


The Switch

by echoinautumn (maybetwice)



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Gen, Rites of Passage, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/pseuds/echoinautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Harper moving to right field, Werth has a few pieces of advice to pass on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Switch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vtn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/gifts).



> Just as I was entering the early stages of baseball withdrawal in October, my Yuletide assignment dropped into my inbox. Thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to write about one of the (many) things I love most about This Town. Happy Yuletide and, hey, spring training is coming!

“How’d you feel about left field?”

Jayson’s been waiting for the question since the sputtering end of the 2012 season, and he’s been trying to tell Bryce to step it up, stop running into walls, and get ready for what is now inevitable, if anyone stops to pay attention. Bryce doesn’t like to listen, really, so Jayson is the only one who isn’t really surprised when it comes up for the first time in the locker room in August. 

Left field doesn’t come up again until the end of October, after the series with the Giants is blown and the only thing left to do with the season is pick it over for anything worth keeping. The Post writers are all about the mistakes of the season, the who’s who of unprepared, though talented, amateurs who had no business in the post-season, and Jayson is already looking ahead to the inevitable.

So, when late November rolls in and Jayson’s getting ready for Thanksgiving, he gets the call, and the same question. He doesn’t even really listen to the explanation, something about saving his legs for a few more years, he just agrees to it. He’ll be 36 in the 2015 season and left field is the future for him if he wants to keep playing the game. He doesn’t actually mind the move, even though he can already hear some wise-ass sports commentator talking about putting him out to pasture sometime soon. He’s getting older. He’s making mistakes. He’s going out, and Bryce is just getting his career moving.

It hits him hard, that there’s a lot to teach Bryce and suddenly not a lot of time before spring training.

 _so you’re going to be RF next year_ , he texts him the day before Thanksgiving, when he knows that Bryce is going to be busy with his family and his fiancee and won’t respond for at least a few hours. 

The answer buzzes in Jayson’s pocket while he’s carving turkey in the kitchen the next day.

_is this a midlife crisis_

Jackass, he thinks, because the kids are close enough to hear, and rolls his eyes. Later that night, he puts his feet up on the coffee table and takes out his phone. 

_speeding ticket was the midlife crisis. this is work. call me when arbitration’s over_

Bryce does, though it’s weeks later and the kid’s off doing his weird pre-season routine out in Nevada. But he’s back in town, things are more or less on track for the 2015 season, and there’s just this one thing left for Jayson to do before they’ll show up in Viera for real training. 

So to speak.

“So, you wanted to talk about the switcheroo we’re doing next season.” Bryce follows Jayson in through the front door of his house and waves awkwardly at Julia when they pass the office. 

“More or less,” Jayson answers, gesturing Bryce into the living room. “Wanted to see how you felt about it.”

Bryce spreads his arms wide and drops back into the most comfortable chair in the room. “I’m ready for it, man. I was born ready for this. Fifteen is going to be my year, if you know what I mean.”

“You know it’s not going to be the same, right?” Jayson paces around the back of the couch, looking out the windows at the empty trees outside.

“So,” Bryce says, putting his feet up on the table. “I’ve played right field before. No problems.”

No problems except running into that wall, but Jayson thinks better of saying anything about that. 2013 was a tough year for everyone.

“It’s a little different. Little more space to cover, few more miracle catches, a few hundred more fans admiring your ass.”

Bryce laughs at that, but he gets up off the couch when Jayson waves him over to the mantle, where he finally stops pacing. 

“So,” Bryce grins, peering over Jayson’s shoulder at the collection of magpie treasures he keeps up there. “Is this the part where you impart some great wisdom from all your glorious years on the field? Hey--is that your big ring?”

Jayson grins, but he picks up the bronzed glove in the center of the mantle, where she’s been placed with honor for more than a few months now. 

“This is Betsy.”

“I know who Betsy is. Is this a joke, man?”

“Serious as a heart attack right now. Don’t be stupid. Hold her.”

Bryce grins at him, but he takes Betsy, all beat up and bronzed over and mounted, and cradles her in his arms, then sweeps her down like an exaggerated hero. “Like a baby, or like my girl?”

“Show some respect to your elders,” Jayson laughs, his hands on his hips in a mockery of seriousness. “You all know I had Betsy a long time.”

“Right until the wheels came off.” Bryce hands her back to Jayson, who admires the tired old creases that he memorized years before. 

“Right about until then, sure.” Jayson keeps her in his hands and clears his throat. “The point is, Betsy was a great companion. Had a lot of trust in her, and gave her the treatment she needed to do well by me a hell of a lot longer than I thought I’d have her.”

Bryce’s grin fades out, then back in when he realizes where Jayson is going with this. “Betsy is a metaphor. I get it, bro. Deep.”

Jayson rolls his eyes hard and smacks Bryce in the shoulder with the back of his hand, putting Betsy back up on the mantle. He even takes a few seconds to make sure her base is squared to the edge of the wood and the light makes her glow. Otherwise, it’d be weird to have a glove on the mantle, like Julia told him it was when he brought her home.

“The glove is a metaphor,” he admits, and steers him to the couch again. “It’s a metaphor for the rest of us. Your bat’s great, you’ll be fine with more batting practice, maybe get out of your head and stop spinning yourself up when you’re at the plate, but you’re fine. You’re moving to right field. You’re going to start carrying a heavier load.”

Bryce’s mouth twitches a little under his beard, and he shrugs off Jayson’s hand. “You know I go hard--all of you know how hard I’m gonna go to get it done. Bring it home this year.”

Jayson lifts a hand and waves off his earnest declarations. “I know, man. It’s not about how hard you go, it’s about the weight of the responsibility you’re carrying now. You gotta… let it go a little. Put your heart into it, make it matter, but don’t go off like some lone wolf, thinking you have to do it all by yourself.”

Bryce is skeptical, it’s all over his face, but he shrugs it off. “I’ll work on it. Few months before we’ve got to be in Florida, right? Lots of time.” 

“Sure,” Jayson says, and he takes the comfortable chair this time, and reaches for the remote. The team usually watches Game of Thrones together during the season, fitting episodes in weeks after they premiere, but they’re too busy to watch them any other time, and too busy to catch spoilers, for the most part. (Except Jayson, who reads both of the Post’s recap blogs on Monday morning like it’s his job.)

He doesn’t say anything about their conversation again until they’re halfway through rewatching the third episode of the last season. 

“Oh,” he says casually, finishing the beer he grabbed from the kitchen at the end of the last episode. “Few of the guys are in town for the thing at the convention center and some business stuff. Thought we’d get together later tonight. Throw a ball around at the high school.” 

The high school he’s talking about isn’t down the street, really, but out past some Virginia cow town in Fuck-yer County. They also don’t really know that he sometimes drives out here to throw a ball around with the guys, because there’s nothing around the school and no one knows to look for them when they’re here. 

Tonight, though, more than half a dozen cars are parked outside the baseball lot, and Jayson thinks that ought to attract someone’s attention. Bryce kicks at some dirt with his sneakers and looks at the dried out grass with some mix of disdain and wistful nostalgia. He probably hasn’t set foot on a field like this in years. When the Batmobile is parked at the end of the line of cars and Drew jogs onto the field with Wilson, Jayson waves them all over toward home plate. 

“All right, everyone knows the deal?”

They do, and though Ryan hesitates a minute before walking over to first--Adam’s not playing for this game, after all--Wilson slaps Stephen on the shoulder before he walks up on the mound, Tony walks to third with a short bounce in his heel, Ian’s got short stop, and Drew takes second after making Stephen promise that they’re swapping off. Bryce looks over at Jayson with the smallest shard of doubt in his eyes before punching his glove and jogging out to right field with his head down. Jayson heads the opposite direction.

It’s a good game. Bryce slams two of their balls over the fence, because he’s showing off, and Tony shouts triumphantly at Stephen when he finally hits one of his fastballs--going who-knows-how-fast--straight up center field, even though Denard catches it on a roll and gets it to Drew a full half-second after Tony crosses the plate. It’s dark, and dirty, and liberating. 

More than once, Jayson catches Bryce with that stubborn expression on his face, the same one he gets when they’re in a bind and he’s determined to get out of it all by himself, and then he gets a throw to first and Ryan grins at him, and his eyebrows seem to loosen up a little bit.

He’s not ready, Jayson decides, after they’ve played for a few hours in the cold and start packing things up, slapping shoulders and hooting with laughter. Wilson shakes his shoulder and waves to everyone as they get in their cars. He needs just a little more practice, and a little more time to adjust to the switch. 

But he’ll get there.

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: the end of this story is inspired by the many "athletes hanging out on their field" scenes from Friday Night Lights, and is purely wishful thinking on my part.


End file.
